


Choice You Can't Take Back

by Romiress



Series: The Stack - Oneshots in Need of Expansion [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Minor suicidal ideation, Post-Batman 50, Post-Batman Wedding Issue, non-traditional soulmate au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Selina leaves him at the altar, and Bruce no longer knows if he should chase.So he seeks out the font, the only way to know the name of your soulmate, the person who will make you happiest.But it isn't her name he finds.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Slade Wilson, Past Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle
Series: The Stack - Oneshots in Need of Expansion [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955284
Comments: 23
Kudos: 126





	Choice You Can't Take Back

Bruce watches the sun rise with an ever-growing sense of unease, and behind him, Alfred stirs. The judge is ready to go, confused and slightly addled as to what is even happening. He is drunk, but Bruce can't imagine he'll stay that way for long.

It doesn't really matter.

With the sun rising, any question of the state of his wedding is gone. It's over; the wedding has fallen through, and he's been left standing at the proverbial alter.

Behind him, Alfred calls, seeking insight into his mind, but Bruce simply shakes his head, stepping off the edge of the roof and going into a controlled fall.

The suit he's wearing, intended for a wedding, is only slightly more stiff than the suit he wears every other night but this.

Just a lot less armored.

He's left a note behind for her, but it doesn't really matter. It was a plea, in its own way, and he wonders if he always knew there was a chance of this happening. He wonders how it will read now that he's been left behind.

He doesn't know whether to chase. That is the nature of their relationship, a constant game of cat and mouse, a back and forth, a push and a pull. But this, leaving him standing at the later, abandoning him on the day they were supposed to get married feels a step too far.

He's no longer sure if it's right.

There is only one place he could ever find an answer. A _real_ answer, not just a guess, not just a _this feels right._

So that's where he goes.

Churches no longer have a stranglehold on the fonts, but they're still the easiest to access, and ask the fewest questions. While Bruce is happy that his childhood church considered use of the fonts to be a choice to be made in adulthood, he knows that plenty of other groups—religious and otherwise—feel differently. For many, the fonts are a blessing that cannot be ignored. He's seen teenagers just hitting puberty use them. He's seen young adults, just coming into themselves. He's seen literal babies, dipped entirely in because it's easier than trying to get their arm out.

He always thought he'd never use one. He always thought he'd never make the choice. The knowledge granted by the fonts is a blessing, but also a curse: the name of your soulmate, the person who can make you happiest in life.

But sometimes it's better not to know.

The connection doesn't always go both ways, after all. Just because the font reveals their name on your arm doesn't mean that they'll have your name on theirs. Sometimes your soulmate is better matched with someone else, which leaves nothing but misery.

There are other reasons too. Some people don't meet their soulmate until their older, and knowing you'd holding out for Jane Smith doesn't do much for dating Tina Rogers. Plenty of people won't even date someone with a name on their arm, a sentiment Bruce shares but hasn't gotten that far with.

He's always been careful about those with names on their arms, but he's never let it rule them out entirely.

Really, the way he's viewed it, ever since he was old enough to give it real though, is simple: using a font and seeing the name of his soulmate is like skipping to the end of the book to find out the answer to a mystery. It gives you what you want, but it spoils the rest of the book as a result.

He's never wanted to do that, and yet now he feels he has no other choice. He has to know. He has to know if it's Selina's name on his arm, if she's the one.

He needs to know if he should chase after her, or if he should finally let her go.

So early in the morning, the church is all but empty, but a priest is cleaning up near the front, tidying for a service to come. He glances up when he sees Bruce, but if he recognizes him, he doesn't acknowledge it. Being polite, probably, as Bruce heads straight for the font.

It looks so normal. Nothing more than a basin with what appears to be ordinary water. But Bruce knows that if he says the words and slips his arm in, he'll know. He'll skip to the end of the book and have the answer to a mystery he has always pondered.

"Do you know how to use it?" The priest asks.

It's something you only ever do once, so it isn't as if the question is unwarranted. Even so, Bruce bristles at the question just the same, his emotions getting the better of him.

"I know how it works, unless you're talking about your specific denominations extra rules."

The priest gets the idea, stepping away to give Bruce his privacy. It's why Bruce picked this particular church: because some churches _refuse_ to give you space while doing something that feels so _personal._

Bruce stares down at the font. Once he's done it, there's no going back. It's not a decision he should be making on exactly zero hours sleep immediately after being left standing at the altar. He should go home. He should give it serious consideration.

He doesn't. Instead, before he can second guess himself, he says the words—old and ancient, in a language lost to time—and dunks his arm into the font up to the elbow.

The water feels hot, but it doesn't burn. It's actually pleasant, like stepping into a hot shower after a long day, and a moment later there's a pressure on his forearm like fingers being dug in.

He looks away. He doesn't want to watch letter after letter spell itself out on his arm. He doesn't want to see it until it's _ready._ The priest is already lingering nearby, ready to provide _counsel_ depending on Bruce's reaction.

 _Selina,_ he thinks to himself. _Please be Selina._

He waits until the pressure subsides, until the warm feeling starts to fade, and then pulls his arm from the water. It takes too much effort to make himself look, to remind himself that the damage is already done. Whether he looks or not, he's going to have the same results. The name will still be there, on his arm forever. On his arm until they day he dies.

He's made a choice he can't take back.

He forces a deep exhale, then draws his arm up in front of himself and opens his eyes.

_Slade Wilson._

Bruce's mind is empty. There's no possible reaction he could have to that, nothing but a dull emptiness. He has to read it again, trying to make his brain accept the information, trying to _process it._

But his arm still says _Slade Wilson._

Not Selina, who he thought for certain would be the one. Not Talia, who he thought might appear as well. Not any of the women he's known, or even any of the men (if he thinks about it, he did think that Harvey, maybe, but he'd dismissed it for the pain it would cause them both).

No.

Instead, the pale white lines, scar tissue in everything but cause, spell out a different name.

Deathstroke.

His reaction must show on his face, because the priest steps forward, offering polite consolation that Bruce obviously didn't get what he wanted.

"Gods ways are not always for us to understand," the priest says. Bruce almost lashes out, the words offering no real comfort, but he's frozen, unable to move from where he stands. "Even if the name isn't the one you hoped for, they are still the person God has chosen for you. Of all the people on this Earth, they are the one who will bring you happiness."

Not _Deathstroke._ Deathstroke can't be the answer.

"Can it be... mistaken?" He knows the answer and yet he asks anyway, just to hear it said out loud.

"No. Just because they can bring you the greatest happiness doesn't mean you will bring _them_ the greatest happiness, but you should still seek them out."

There's no other choice.

Bruce leaves some money in the collection tin by the door when he goes, his head spinning. He doesn't go back to the manor. Instead, he goes to a safehouse, sends a message to his allies he'll need a few days off, and collects his gear.

It's almost laughably easy to find Deathstroke once he puts his mind to it, and he spends the flight to Star City rifling through his file. Formerly married. Three kids, two still alive. Most of the time Slade's in armor, hiding his forearm, but he's been arrested before...

Bruce pulls those files, but none of them contain mention of a name on his arm.

Bruce double checks the name on his own, but it's still there, still obvious, and still says the same thing. He thinks about people intentionally scarring over the mark, a practice he always found disasteful, and suddenly understands what they might have been going through.

He heads into the city in his armor. If someone's bothered by the Batman's presence, he'll deal with them later. Right then, he's entirely singleminded, completely focused on one thing and one thing only.

Slade's already got his target and is heading out of the city when Bruce catches up to him. He seems to automatically assume that Bruce is there to take him in, which isn't an unwarranted assumption. They've fought more times than Bruce can even count, and every previous time, it's been for a _reason._ It's been about work.

But this is different.

Bruce falls upon Slade like the fury of an angered god. Slade has done nothing to him but exist, and yet that feels like too much. He fights to _hurt_ as much as to _win,_ nearly pushing Slade off the roof with his ferocity.

Slade seems to realize the difference, and the tone of the battle changes quickly. Soon, Slade is fighting back for real, using more force than he would have otherwise. Every swing of his staff hits sends shocks through Bruce's bones. His entire body protests with every movement, and it becomes more and more obvious how much Slade's held back before.

Bruce doesn't allow himself to think the question. He can't. Slade can't know. He's probably the sort of person who shunned the fonts the way Bruce did. Who dated people without them. Who preferred a _natural_ style, rather than putting it up to fate.

Bruce is fighting hard, but he's distracted, and eventually Slade finds an opening. He wallops Bruce hard with his staff, right in the side, and Bruce doubles over, unable to catch himself in time. Then Slade is on him, grabbing the cowl and slamming Bruce's head into the rooftop, leaving him seeing stars.

The fight goes out of him, and Bruce simply lays there. He doesn't have the energy to stand up. He doesn't have the energy to move. He can't stand the thought of even looking at Slade's stupid, stupid helmet.

Bruce closes his eyes. Maybe he misunderstood. Maybe Slade's going to kill him, and _that's_ what would make him happiest. Right then he wouldn't even protest.

He's just so, so tired.

"Always wondered if this would happen at some point or another, Wayne," Slade says above him. "Figured it probably wouldn't, but guess I was wrong."

Bruce refuses to open his eyes, even when Slade's foot nudges him.

"Whose name were you expecting to see on your arm?"

Oh.

There's only one possible explanation. Only one thing that makes sense. Slade's been wondering if it would happen because they match. Because _his_ name is on _Slade's_ arm.

"The whole time?"

"Since the very start. Dipped my arm not long after things got rocking with Adeline. She thought I was cheating on her, and wanted proof we were commited, so I dipped. Didn't exactly work out like she wanted."

The whole time.

Every single time they've ever fought. Every battle. Every job. From before Bruce was even Batman, and every day since then.

Slade's always known.

He's always known and he's _never_ used it against Bruce. He's never tried to instigate. He's never brought it up. He's always acted as if his arm is blank, as if Bruce's name wasn't on his arm the whole goddamn time.

"You never said."

"Figured it was one way. You seemed happy with Selina, didn't see a point in disrupting that just to be an asshole. And before you say _you could have used it against me,_ sure, I could have, but only once. And the moment it's out there, it can be used against _me_ just as much. Better to keep it to myself. Better not to let anyone know."

Bruce opens his eyes, staring up at the sky. Slade's standing over him, but he's not looking at him right then; his head's tipped back, staring up at the sky.

"What now?" Bruce doesn't even realize it's him that's said it until Slade turns his head, looking down at Bruce. His mask feels so _blank._ At least Slade can see his jaw, can see the constant clench and unclench as Bruce's emotions go to war with themselves.

Slade, meanwhile, is a mystery.

"You go back to Gotham. We pretend it's business as usual, like none of this ever happened. This doesn't have to change anything."

"It changes it for me."

Bruce can't pretend like it didn't happen. He can't pretend like Slade's name doesn't decorate his arm. He can't pretend that when he asked the universe _is Selina the one for me?_ the universe answered back _no._

"I was going to marry her, Slade. She stood me up, and I wanted to know... to know if she was the one."

Slade's laugh sounds almost painful.

"And instead you got me."

Bruce closes his eyes again.

He hears rather than sees when Slade sits down beside him, taking a place just right of Bruce's head. He feels it, though, when Slade grips his cowl, expertly pressing the right points to release it, letting him slide it off Bruce's face.

Even in the darkness, Bruce is sure that Slade can see the tears just the same.

"It doesn't have to be me. There are people out there who can modify the mark so perfectly you'd never know. You can go to one of them. Have Selina Kyle on your arm. Live a life with a her."

He can't.

Bruce _knows_ he can't.

"She left me at the altar. After that... I'm not sure we could pull it together. But it doesn't matter either way. Now that I know the truth, I can't pretend I don't know it. I could hide it from other people, but I couldn't hide it from myself."

He can't hide from the truth.

Slade takes off his helmet. There's no prompting for it, no attempt by Bruce to make him do so, and yet he does it anyway, setting it down beside Bruce's cowl. Slade looks, to Bruce's surprise, tired. Weary and exhausted from everything that's happened already, not just that night, but every night before.

Tired of hiding the truth.

"What do you want to do?" Slade asks him, and for the first time that night, Bruce knows the answer.

"I want to try."

That catches Slade off guard, his eyebrows shooting up as he stares at Bruce with abject confusion.

"What?"

"The universe itself thinks we're a good match. _Fate_ thinks you're the person who would make me happiest."

"Fate's full of shit."

"I'd rather try. If I try, then I know. If I try, then there's no question."

"Something like— something like this isn't a matter of yes or no. It's not a binary thing. A... _relationship_ is something you have to work at."

"I'd rather work at something that I've been told might work then waste my time elsewhere."

Slade huffs, shaking his head.

"Insufferable already."

But Slade lets his hand move just the same, fingers brushing softly against the side of Bruce's face. It's so _soft,_ so unlike the man Bruce has come to know.

"Will you try?"

Slade doesn't answer right away, but it doesn't matter. Bruce already knows his answer. Slade's spent more than twenty years keeping his secret. He's spent so long because he didn't want to hurt Bruce, and it's the best possible sign that Bruce could have asked for.

"If that's what you want."

Bruce reaches up, resting his hand over Slade's, and right then he feels like there might be hope again.

**Author's Note:**

> This might get expanded on later, so I'm putting it in the stack. Originally intended as a oneshot, however.


End file.
